Daniel Burnham: The man with a plan

Stephan BenzkoferChicago Tribune reporter

Many men and women helped raise Chicago out of the ashes of the Great Fire of 1871 and transform it into the major city it would become in the 20th century, people such as Marshall Field, Charles Wacker, Aaron Montgomery Ward, Potter Palmer, Jane Addams and the Mayors Carter Harrison (father and son). And it is only fitting, in a city renowned for its skyline, that an architect would rival those giants of their day for his lasting fame and enduring legacy.

When Daniel Burnham's Plan of Chicago was presented in 1909, he already was widely acclaimed for his globe-trotting urban planning, with projects in San Francisco, Washington, D.C., and Manila, Philippines. He was hailed for wrestling the vision of the 1893 Columbian Exposition into wildly successful reality.

Firms bearing his name erected numerous famous structures, including the Rookery and Masonic Temple (since torn down) in Chicago, the Flatiron Building in New York City and Union Station in Washington.

Yet when the plan that has become synonymous with his name was actually unveiled to the public on July 4, 1909, he barely received a mention.

With the Tribune editorial board's current project to develop a New Plan of Chicago to address the city's myriad current problems, many residents are again talking about urban planning, big ideas and Daniel Burnham. So Chicago Flashback thought it would be interesting to see how the now-famous architect was actually perceived.

Burnham first appeared in the Tribune in 1883, at age 37, in a Q&A about the "prevailing styles in residences and public buildings." He reappeared in November 1884 being elected chairman of the newly founded Western Association of Architects convention.

Burnham's burgeoning reputation was truly burnished, though, after not only overseeing the construction of the world's fair in 1893, but also designing and implementing many aspects of the dignified City Beautiful Movement showcased in that wondrous White City.

So when the Chicago Merchants Club commissioned the plan from Burnham in 1906, it was done with much fanfare. The Page 1 lead story in the Tribune on Oct. 27 proclaimed: "SEE NEW CHICAGO GEM OF AMERICA."

"The future Chicago is to be made one of the most artistic cities in this country — one of the world's show places," the Tribune intoned in the story. And a good deal of the excitement — and the energy behind the expectations — lay with the name attached to the plan. "Burnham in charge," one secondary headline declared.

The story set a high bar for success: "Daniel H. Burnham, the veteran architect ... will have general supervision of the work. He has donated his services and intends to make the Chicago plan in its entirety the masterpiece of his life."

The city was abuzz with possibility. The Progressive Era was in full swing, civic leaders envisioned shining cities that had sloughed off their 19th-century social problems, where children were being educated instead of working or running wild in the streets, where the horrible "smoke nuisance" that blotted out the sun in Chicago was finally blown away, where streets clogged by wagons and horses, pedestrians and street cars were untangled and transformed into wide boulevards, where the lakefront wasn't a rail yard but a park.

What they wanted was Burnham's White City from 1893 writ large.

Burnham had recognized that and been encouraging it for years. In 1902, while working on plans to beautify the National Mall in Washington, he explained how the fair had energized the population. "It was Chicago with its World's Fair which vivified the national desire for civic beauty," he said.

When the project was launched in 1906, it already had a skeleton and a bit of muscle. The Oct. 27 story talked of an outer parkway built into the lake on landfill and extending the length of the lakefront, a system of public squares and boulevards, and better traffic regulation. Here also, Edward Bennett, who would eventually get his due as co-author of the plan, was mentioned as Burnham's chief assistant.

"Chicago has a great civic asset in Mr. Burnham," said Charles Norton, president of the Merchants Club, in describing his hope that the city could "cut out all petty jealousies" to create and implement the plan.

The Plan of Chicago was anticipated with some flourish on July 4, 1909. The Tribune ran advertisements urging readers to make sure they reserved a copy of the Sunday edition so they wouldn't miss the special, color section showcasing Jules Guerin's beautiful paintings, which illustrated "the plans of Architects Burnham and Bennett" and were sure to inspire all citizens.

The Burnham-centered hype from 1906, subsequent stories and headlines over the 30 months, and advertisements just the day before, made the tone of the actual announcement even more striking: Burnham was barely mentioned. Instead, "Commercial Club workers" issued the report, according to a headline. (The Merchants Club merged with the Commercial Club in 1907.) The story emphasized how the plan represented "the composite production of many minds." It praised Guerin and other artists for "pictorializing the ideas of the architects," who remain anonymous until the end of the 80-inch story, and even then received short shrift. Bennett wasn't mentioned at all. Burnham was referenced in passing only as a member of the committee.

While the Tribune went the furthest in burying Burnham, other newspapers of the day took a similar tack. The Inter Ocean gave Burnham and Bennett one-sentence credit for preparing the plan. The Chicago Daily Journal went so far as to say the book was the result of 30 months' work by the two, though both papers failed to give credit on the front page. (Interestingly, while no paper appeared to actually talk to Burnham, the Chicago Daily News quoted Edward Bennett — and that on its front.)

The Tribune story instead praised Charles Norton for conceiving of the need for the plan and making it happen.

And unlike the launch story and later articles that stressed the "City Beautiful" and progressive ideals of a more livable metropolis, the July 4 Tribune report emphasized the importance of the plan in raising property values and bringing great wealth to the city's businessmen.

Did the aforementioned petty jealousies breach the relationship between the Commercial Club and Burnham? Maybe the Commercial Club's leadership — including Burnham — felt that the plan was bigger than any one or two people, and they wanted to present the plan on its own merits. Also possible was that the severe economic downturn in the Panic of 1907 had sobered Chicago's business community and focused its attention on the ways the plan would help the recovery. Whatever the reason, the jettisoning of the star architect was a remarkable about-face.

What made the Plan of Chicago such an important document, though, was the implementation. If, after the unveiling, the 1,650 copies that were distributed to the mayor, aldermen, governor, legislators and libraries had just gathered dust, we wouldn't be writing about it today.

Less than 18 months later, in a major breakthrough, the Illinois Central Railroad agreed to trade prime lakefront land on the south side of Grant Park, roughly from Roosevelt Road all the way to 51st Street, for land elsewhere. That erased a major stumbling block to the idea of creating a continuous park running the length of the city, and it provided a much-needed location for a big new attraction: the Field Museum. Burnham wasn't part of these negotiations, or at least received no credit or mention, but the Tribune did highlight in a separate short story how his plan informed the project. Another notable plan success would come a few years later when work would begin on the Municipal Pier, today called Navy Pier.

Burnham wouldn't live to see much of his plan implemented. He died while touring Europe with his family on June 1, 1912. Oddly, his obituary ran on Page 2 of the Tribune. It called him "designer" and "founder" of the Chicago Plan, praised him as an industrious visionary and as a giant in his field.

But an appreciation by Harriet Monroe that followed about a week later offered a more fitting eulogy: "a man of power whose power was founded on faith — faith both in the big thing to be done and in the desire and capacity of the people to do it in the best way."